Mad World
by JokersJustice
Summary: A new drug being implemented at Arkham and a photo found by Batman may reveal the ever allusive past of the clown prince of crime.But once outed can Batman continue believing that he doesn't live in a Mad World?Or will Joker have the last laugh after all?


**Disclaimer**: _I do not own Batman or any related character, themes or names. I make no money off of this piece of fiction; this is merely for my own enjoyment. _

**Authors Note**: _About a week or so ago I had a dream and some pieces of the dream was so vivid that I was able to retell it to my friends as though it were a story. This is what became of that dream._

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><p>Chapter One: The photo<p>

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><p>He went by so many aliases that any single ONE of them could have been his name. He changed his story, twisting details over and over again that anything he spewed was immediately put down as <em>just another lie<em>. No other known criminals knew who he really was. The doctors at Arkham could never get to him, get him to open up. The nameplate on his cell in Arkham was simply inscribed with bold letters that read: **UNKNOWN**

In fact, nothing was known about him. Not really. There was a lot known about the _Joker_ persona. But nothing known about the person. The person behind the Joker. If there even was one. Some of the doctors doubted it. They'd whisper to each other and thank God that they were assigned another of the asylum's whackos. None of them wanted the Joker.

For one thing, bad things always happened when the Joker was involved. The inmates who shared the cellblock with Joker were considered "dead men walking." The other inmates pitied them. It was no secret to anyone that _everyone_ in Arkham feared the Joker. And if they didn't, they were ignorantly stupid. And they'd _learn._

After Sharp had taken over Arkham, Joker had been moved away from the rest of Batman's rogue gallery. He'd been moved to Extreme Isolation. He'd complained that he'd have to redecorate his cell upon the move. Yelling over his shoulder to the warden to take care of his humble abode in the penitentiary.

Unlike the cells in the penitentiary, all four walls were made of thick metals doors, keeping the patients from each other. There was only one small window with a slider so guards could peek in before opening the doors. But even these drastic measures to keep the Joker's influence down failed, which is why the other inmates pitied the poor souls who shared the cell block with the Joker.

Joker would whisper through the walls on either side of his cell. Whisper dark, nasty things to the inmates. He'd convince them to hurt themselves or even kill themselves. And the inmates across the way, hearing the screams of terror would more often than not kill themselves for fear that Joker would go after them next. Joker would laugh and laugh when questioned as to what had happened. He'd say he had no idea and that he'd been sitting in his little cell minding his own business, waiting for his next therapy session.

For weeks after the move, the guards and other inmates suffered, for Harley Quinn sobbed, screamed, begged and threatened to try and get her _"Puddin'"_ back into the same block as her. The guards threatened her to shut up. The doctors and nurses tried drugs to calm her down but nothing helped. She continued to scream and cry and destroy things in her cell for nearly three weeks. Upon the third week, she had been moved to an isolated cell to permit the other inmates some rest. Upon returning to her cell, she was all smiles. She didn't put up a fuss again. No one could figure out exactly what brought on the change.

Every psychiatrist who took on the Joker case seemed to have bad luck befall them. They would either kill themselves, be killed by the Joker, quit psychiatry altogether, or end up in Arkham themselves. The fair few who did not have any of these happenings befall them would find their time completely wasted. No matter what they tried, they simply couldn't peel back the layers of the Joker's psyche. More often than not, they would leave a session feeling as though he'd gotten into _THEIR_ heads. Unsettling certainly, but all failed in the end to reveal anything about the man who simply called himself Joker.

Everything anyone knew about the Joker pointed to the fact that they knew _nothing_ about him. Which is why the Dark Knight detective was more than a little surprised when he came across something that could possibly reveal something about the mad man's past.

Batman had been investigating the mysterious kidnapping of Lacy Goodricke, the seven-year-old daughter of national football player Theodor Todd Goodricke. Goodricke was very popular among Gotham's citizens since he himself had started out in the slums of Gotham. He'd worked hard until he was able to attend Gotham University, where his football career began. It was no secret that the famed football player still lived in Gotham, and so when Batman had heard that his seven-year-old daughter Lacy had been kidnapped, he took up the search. If Lacy had been kidnapped outside of Gotham, Batman probably would have left it to the authorities. But there had been one too many kidnappings in Gotham as of late, and Batman had a sneaking suspicion that the person or people behind the kidnappings were probably the same individuals who kidnapped Lacy.

Upon starting his investigation, Batman had gone to Theodor Goodricke's home to investigate the crime scene, leaving Robin to patrol the rest of the city. It had been easy to slip passed the gate and slip into the home. No one was home save for Goodricke's cousin Quinton. The only reason Batman knew of Quinton was the fact that Goodricke often mentioned his cousin in interviews, speeches and things of that nature. Every fan of Theodor Todd Goodricke knew of Quinton Goodricke. Quinton had been asleep on the sofa when Batman arrived, and when Batman snuck into the second story window, he was careful not to make a noise. No need to alert the younger Goodricke of his presence.

Batman had searched the little girl's bedroom carefully, being sure to comb over everything. He'd found that a bit of the paint on the outside border of the window had been chipped away and there were slight nicks on the window's lock, leading him to believe that whoever had taken the girl had slipped a knife or blade of some kind between the frame and glass and unlocked the window from the outside. It was obvious to him, however, that the person who took Lacy was smart. The police had stated in their reports that the girl's window had been locked when they arrived. Whoever took Lacy was smart enough to relock the window.

Taking samples of the little girl's hair and a few skin particles from her bed, Batman prepared to take his leave. He crept silently out of the girl's bedroom and made his way back down the hall towards the hall window he had climbed in from. He paused when he passed a room. The door was slightly ajar. Batman glanced towards the stairs a little ways down before turning fully towards the door and entering silently.

The office was comfortable looking. Two large bookshelves rested behind the desk, housing folders, books, documents and photos. Batman's eyes scanned over the desk that was littered with fan letters, business letters, and sticky notes. There was a picture of Mrs. Goodricke on the desk near the desktop computer.

He turned his attention to the bookshelves. The first picture he saw was a framed drawing, obviously done by Lacy. The page was covered in pink and green scribble people and signed in blue crayon. There were more pictures of Mrs. Goodricke. Pictures of her husband and child. A picture of Theodor and Quinton at a football came in Metropolis. A picture of a rather harsh-looking man in military uniform. Batman assumed this was Goodricke's late father.

His eyes drifted to a picture set beside a Gotham University Graduation certificate. Picking it up, he examined it closely in the moonlight. It was a simple picture. One obviously taken without prior planning. The picture portrayed four youths standing outside of the south dorm building. It appeared to be late summer or early fall. Quinton was there, no doubt visiting his older cousin.

Quinton was quite a bit shorter than his cousin. He had ginger hair, tanned skin, a mess of freckles, and dark green-blue eyes. He was wearing a simple, taupe short sleeved shirt with what appeared to be a fuchsia _Q_ on the front. His hand was resting on his cousin's broad shoulder.

Theodor was a square youth with dirty golden hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. He was wearing a blue football jersey. It wasn't a Gotham Knights jersey, so Batman assumed it was perhaps a jersey for one of Theodor's favorite football teams.

A girl stood slightly apart from Theodor. She was a small little thing with short blonde hair, peach-cream skin, and a birth mark decorating the corner of her aquamarine eyes. She was wearing a faded light lavender turtleneck sweater.

Standing behind the girl and Theodor was a third young man. He was the tallest of the group with wild yet well-kept black hair, peach skin, and green eyes. He had a long, narrow face with a long, slender nose and an awkward little smile. It was obvious he wasn't exactly _comfortable_. Perhaps he hadn't been prepared for the picture. He was wearing a white button-up shirt with a reddish, wine-colored sweater vest.

Batman's eyes widened as he studied the picture harder. The shape of the eyes, the thin brows—his nose was straighter, his smile smaller, but there was no mistaking that face. "_Joker_," The detective whispered in surprise. Turning the photo around, he slipped it out of the frame and looked for writing on the back. He found the following:

_Here's for the greatest football player GU has ever seen, and the world's greatest cousin! Congrats on making it through your first year, cuz! I'm so proud of you! -Quinton _

_I remember when you were just another one of those stupid jocks. Boy, am I eating my words now, huh? Well, despite what we may have thought of each other at the beginning of the year, I'm glad we're friends, Todd. At least your pals aren't throwing footballs at my face anymore. Let's make this second year greater than the first! Love you, pal. -Holly_

_Hey Toddy. Holly insists that I participate. Silly, don't you think? Well, life's just a big joke anyway, huh? Haha. Congrats on passing your Chemistry final with a 100/100. Glad all the tutoring and failed labs together paid off. Hope this upcoming year will be just as rewarding as the last. _

_P.S.: I'm still not attending any of your away games. I don't care what you say. ;) _

_Jack_

Batman turned towards the desk and set the frame down before laying the photo flat on the wooden surface. He pulled out a small slim camera from a compartment on his belt and took a picture of the photo before taking the picture and putting it back in its frame. He was careful not to leave any trace that he'd been there as he exited the office.

Upon returning to the Batcave, Batman had immediately gone to the Batcomputer to access Gotham University's records. He knew that most files would have been hard copies when Joker went to school, seeing as computerization was still a relatively new thing at the time, but he remembered Dick telling him a few years back that the university had also made computer copies of the hard copies.

"Please excuse the question, sir, but if I may be so bold... If the Joker did attend Gotham University, why has no one noticed pictures of him before?" Alfred questioned as he set a cup of coffee down on the tray table beside Bruce.

"Because most people who come across the Joker don't look at him."

"I find that hard to believe sir."

"I mean _really_ look at him, Alfred. He wears makeup. Lipstick, eye shadow to accent those features. I've seen him without both of these accessories." Hitting a few buttons, Bruce pulled up a picture of the Joker and an enhanced picture of _Jack._

"My word," Alfred gasped out.

"You see it?"

The butler leaned in slightly, holding the tea tray he'd used to bring in the coffee to his chest. "It's hard to tell, sir. There are obvious similarities, but at the same time there are hundreds of differences."

"Exactly. At a glance, no one would put the two together. Look here." Using the cursor, Bruce started circling and comparing parts of the pictures. "The shape of the eyes are virtually the same, except that Jack's eyes have a soft, upward bow. Joker doesn't have this bow. His eyes have a sharp upturn. Also, Joker's pupils are smaller."

Alfred scratched thoughtfully at his mustache. "Perhaps due to the chemical reaction, sir?"

"Most likely. For as long as I have known the Joker, I have never once seen him with dilated pupils."

"Strange."

"The pupils dilate when looking upon things you desire, or when in low light. Joker has eerily good night vision, Alfred, but when examined in the dark, his pupils remain the same size." Bruce stated as he dragged his cursor back over Jack's picture. "Also, he's much younger here, but still. If you notice the cheekbones. Jack's aren't quite as shapley as Joker's. And his nose is straighter."

Alfred looked over at his employer. "Perhaps due to all of the damage his face has taken?"

Bruce nodded. "Joker has had plenty of reconstructive surgery. Nothing major. Just patching up broken bones, etc." Crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat, Bruce turned and faced the butler. "I'm not surprised that no one really noticed. For one thing, nowadays, not many people have reasons to go through such old records. And I doubt that this kid's last name is Napier."

"Why, sir?"

"Because it would have been too easy for the police and doctors at Arkham Asylum, let alone myself, to locate these pictures. We've all done research on all of his aliases, never coming up with anything but crimes he's committed under these names."

"What is this young man's last name, sir?"

Bruce turned back to the computer and started typing.

The pictures of Joker and Jack minimized as the university records flashed onto the screen one after another. Bruce kept typing until he zoomed in on one. It was an enrollment record. "Here. Jack O'Tool. Well, I guess Joker wasn't lying when he claimed to be Irish," the detective mused to himself as he started looking through the other records. "Due to Jack's entrance exam ranking being so high, he was the first to be accepted into the South dorm, as well as one of the first students to receive grants from the government."

"How much, sir?" Alfred asked curiously. "If he were to go out for grants and FASFA, would he not have had to enter his family information?"

"Not necessarily. According to these records, he had proof of being in the system, meaning that that portion of the file would be passed over. There's nothing here about his parents. He was given…" Bruce whistled slightly. "He was given ten-thousand dollars in grant money."

"Goodness."

Batman minimized the university's window. "I'm going to search for more information on Jack O'Tool," he stated as he started typing. Windows zipped here and there on the screen as the computer cross-checked search engines, websites, and other less public places of information. After a five minutes, the computer stopped cross checking.

"Anything, sir?"

"Not much. No birth certificate…not even any documents about him being in the system."

"Perhaps the Joker erased all of it?"

"Not likely. The Joker can't remember who he is. If he did, he wouldn't have let these records remain at the school. It would have been more his style to burn down the university. As far as I know, Joker has never even done anything against the university. It's always been the Scarecrow's main focus for revenge," he said with a hint of irritation. It was bothering him that the trail he had just found was already seeming to run cold. "Wait, here." He clicked on another file.

"What is it, sir? Something on our insane fiend?"

"It's a marriage certificate."

"My word!"

"Signed by Jack O'Tool and Jeanie Hollin." Batman pushed the file aside and type in the woman's name. A picture of a woman appeared on the screen.

She had shoulder-length straight light brown hair, light skin, and rosy lips. Her smile was broad but sweet, her eyes scrunched together as though she had been trying not to laugh.

"My word, she is a lovely young woman."

"This is a picture from her driver's license," Bruce mused as he pulled up more records on her. "Born on April 2, 1932," he read as he looked over her birth certificate before moving to another link that had appeared in the corner of the screen. Clicking it, he felt his heart lower in his chest slightly.

"What is it, sir?"

"Certificate of death. She died October 28th, 1957. The same year I met the Joker." He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a large sigh. "She would be thirty-three this year Alfred."

"Poor dear. Poor, poor dear. Does it say how she died, sir?"

Bruce forced himself to return his gaze to the computer screen before letting his fingers fly over the keyboard. Typing away, he pulled up more of her public records before pulling up a link that the computer had provided with the death certificate. The screen was filled by a large window. "A newspaper article from October 28th, '57."

_Misfortune has struck the quiet little neighborhood on the outskirts of East Gotham. This residential area has always been known as a place for the working man. A quiet neighborhood with small cozy houses and green lawns. But now that quiet peace has been shattered. Jeannie O'Tool, 25, was found burned alive. Frightened and worried neighbors say that the house burst into flames around 3:35 AM. It took firefighters two hours to get the fire under control, and by then it was too late. According to police investigating the home, the fire was started with an accelerant, most likely gasoline. It is reported that husband Jack O'Tool was not in the house. The police believe that perhaps foul play was involved, and plan on investigating further. So far, their only suspect is Mr. O'Tool._

_Upon questioning, neighbors state that the O'Tools were a typical family who had their ups and downs, but all deny that Mr. O'Tool could ever be capable of harming his wife. A Mrs. Gerbigge, 85, states that "Jack was so happy when he found out that his little Jeannie was expecting a baby that he literally ran up and down the sidewalk, shouting that they were going to have a baby. I have never seen a man so happy to be come a father. No, no, I don't believe that Jack did it. This was just an unfortunate accident. And I know when Jack finds out, he'll be devastated. God Bless Jack. He has to know that when all of this nonsense is taken care of and over with, that we will all be here for him." _

_Whether an accident or a murder, it seems that all involved are mourning the loss of Jeannnie O'Tool and her unborn child._

Bruce placed his elbows on the top of the computer console, resting his chin on his hands. The silence that had befallen the cave was thick and uncomfortable.

After a moment more, Alfred cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. "If Joker—eh, Jack was suspected of his wife's murder, why did the computer not pull up any criminal records?"

Bruce turned to his old friend and sighed. He felt suddenly very tired. "Because Jack O'Tool was never found. After so long, he was probably pronounced dead. The case was never solved and, knowing Gotham Police, they probably wrote it off as nothing more than an accident." He pushed himself from the chair and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to go change, Alfred."

"Yes, sir."

Once Bruce was fully dressed, he leaned against the wall in the changing room, bowing his head. He'd always wanted to learn more about the psychopathic maniac, but now that he'd been granted even a peek into the mad man's past, he suddenly felt confused and a bit unsteady.

He'd always thought of the Joker as nothing but a monster. He was a monster. Batman had never really seen him as human. He wasn't supposed to have feelings like everybody else. But now... Now he knew that he was wrong. Joker was human. He'd been human once. He'd had friends. He'd probably had dreams. He'd loved.

_Love._ It was almost laughable. The thought of the Joker being able to feel such a complex emotion such as love made him want to laugh and punch somebody in the face simultaneously. Joker _didn't_ love. He _lied_ and _manipulated_.

Bruce whacked his head against the wall with a comfortingly painful thump that caused the back of his skull to pulse slightly. He let out a sigh. Everything seemed so much more complicated now. And yet nothing had really happened. Nothing had really changed. He'd merely read some old articles. But even so he felt different.

"Bats?"

Bruce opened his eyes and pushed off of the wall, rubbing the back of his head as he headed for the door. Robin was back and he'd rather not have him seeing what he'd discovered. He'd distract the fourteen-year-old by grilling him on his patrol. Yeah. That would work.

It took eight of them. Two guarding the outside. Two standing by the door on the inside. Two holding him down, two more holding his legs down. It took eight of them to hold down one man. Joker would have laughed if a four inch needle wasn't being shoved into the tender side of his wrist by some blonde-twit-newbee who was to nervous to do his job.

"Oooh ho ho ho jeeze, take it easy kiddo." He chuckled as he looked down at his exposed wrist. The blonde twitched at being addressed and one of the guards above him growled warningly. Joker ignored the warning. "You missed my vein. You know that shit burns when it doesn't make it in the vein." He chuckled again, his eyes squinting slightly as he gazed down at his pale wrist.

The white skin was growing pink and red and blotchy. The blonde quickly and carelessly yanked the needle out making the Joker hiss and chuckle at the discomfort. He would have wiggled he was so excited. He hadn't had _this_ much attention in eons. Blood oozed from the small puncture wound. Red and glistening in the light.

"Hurry up! The longer this takes the more dangerous _it_ becomes!" One of the guards barked causing the blonde newbee to shake visibly. Joker watched with calculating green eyes as the blonde tested the injection again before preparing to once again attempt to get a vein. Sweat beaded on his brow and slid gently along his jaw line. His lips were dry and he just oozed fear.

"_Awww poor baby. Hehe."_ Joker thought to himself as the needle pierced his flesh again a little higher up on his wrist. He let out a low hissing sigh as he felt the drug injected into his veins. "That's it, you got it." He chuckled a little louder as he felt the drugs taking affect. He whistled. "These babies work fast don't they doc?" He let his head fall back as the muscles at the base of his neck went slack.

After a moment of tense silence the guards relented their hard grip on the mad man. The still grinning clown didn't move. Couldn't move. His eyes traveled down to look at the blonde who had cleared his throat nervously. "Don't worry. It may feel as though you're being smothered right now, but it won't kill you. It's forcing your body into complete relaxation."

Joker felt his Adam apple bob in his throat and was sure it was a laugh. "The heavy feeling in your chest will lighten shortly and soon you'll be able to swallow again."

Joker's lips twitched as his grin strained; trying to widen as a line of drool slid down the corner of his mouth.

"Come on doc." One of the guards said as he wacked the blonde on the shoulder making him twitch. Whoever this young blood was he was fresh out of school. The Joker wondered why he was at Arkham. Wondered what sin he must have committed to be sentenced to such a hell hole. "Let's get out of here. We're done. It's up to the shrink now." And with that the guards and the blonde doctor left the Joker laying awkwardly half on half off of his bed completely unable to move.

Joker was enjoying the heavy feeling on his chest. It was like someone were sitting on him. And due to his not being able to swallow his neck felt tight as though he were being strangled. It was almost arousing; the inability to move. The lack of control. But his annoyance and irritation prevented any forms of arousal from blossoming. He hated not having control. At least over himself. He felt his limps relaxing as a warmth started settling over him. His lids drooped slightly and his chest rose as he breathed in deeply through his nose. With a slight shift he swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth. He was mildly surprised to find it slide down his throat without causing him to break out into a coughing fit.

He could move but only sluggishly. He knew it would take time for his immune system to overcome the drugs and even longer to build up an immunity to it. But he was a patient man. He would wait until the drugs no longer affected him and then he would wait longer still. Yes. He would loll the doctors and idiots at Arkham into a false sense of security; and then he would _strike._ But until then he would plan. Planning was always half the fun.

Slowly Joker lifted his head and with great effort on part of his calf muscles he pushed himself fully onto his cot. With a huff and a half-hearted giggle he let his head fall back and his eyes drift closed. Moving at all seemed to take more effort than it was worth. Whatever they gave him was strong. It wasn't exactly a sedative since he was necessarily sleepy-it was more of a relaxant. _"Cowards."_ He muttered to himself.

Ten minutes after he'd been injected with the new drugs Joker was visited in his cell by _another_ one of his psychiatrists. This one was from Central City; transferred last April-or so Joker read in his file. Whenever Joker got a new shrink he made it a habit to learn everything about them. He would make his way from his cell up to the record room and read up on his new _playmate_. Of course this one was perhaps the last one he'd get the chance to read up on before their sessions began. Being locked up in extreme isolation really had its downfalls.

"How are you feeling Mr. Joker."

Joker who had managed to crawl all the way onto his bed was laying on his side his head hung awkwardly, his right shoulder crushed underneath him. He offered the doctor a wide smile.

"Great doc. Never better." He said in a comfortably relaxed tone. He had to admit, the drugs didn't have nasty side effects. No nausea, no itching skin no burning. He felt completely and totally relaxed. It was nice but it was also a problem. He couldn't seem to find the energy to be threatening, foreboding anything. And seeing as he was laying down didn't help. Standing or even sitting his appearance seemed to set people on edge. Due to his great high and length. He may have been a thin man but his height could be unsettling and he knew it.

"Good, that's good. So why don't we talk about the last time you escaped from Arkham." The doctor began, taking a seat opposite the bed clipboard in hand.

Joker cocked a brow, his grin never leaving his pale face. No guards. Clipboard and pen? Were they really so comfortable with their new found power that they would be so careless around him? He could hardly believe it. Here he was no straight jacket, no cuffs, no guards with an idiot less than ten feet away from him with a seemingly harmless pen and he couldn't even get himself to care. He did _not_ like these new drugs. "Oh that's boring doc, let's talk about something else hmn?" He offered as he shifted slightly off of his shoulder and fell over onto his back, his head still pointed towards the doctor.

"Alright. What is it you would like to talk about?"

"Hey doc, know any good 'knock, knock' jokes?" Joker asked with only the slightest hint of excitement, a lack-luster chuckle escaping him. The doctor sighed and tapped his clip-board.

"Let's skip the jokes alright? Move on to more interesting topics."

With speed and energy that surprised both Joker and the doctor the Joker sat up and frowned at the doctor. "Skip the jokes?" He slumped against the wall with a chuckle, whatever energy he'd had for that moment gone. "Didn't they tell you about me doc? I _liiiive_ for jokes! Hehe."

Scratching at his collar slightly the doctor cleared his throat as he gathered his wits again. He hadn't expected the Joker to move so suddenly. Shouldn't have been able to according to what he knew about the drugs the doctors at Arkham had given him. "Yes, yes I am aware but I want to talk about you Joker."

"Oh? Well why didn't you say so? I love talking about me sweetheart! I could talk about me all day!"

"So, why don't we talk about your last escape."

"Still going on about that doc?"

"How did you do it Joker? Please, tell me. Rivet me with the tale of your daring escape."

"Hehehe. Oh I'd love to doc really. Love to tell you all about how I lifted a plastic knife and ball-point pen from good ol' Pamala and then got out of my straightjacket to await the guards who-" Joker clammed up suddenly a frown furrowing his thin brows. The doctor paused in his writing before looking back up the clown prince of crime.

"Go on."

"I'd love to tell you how I stabbed old Turn-pot-Tommy in the eye with the knife but…" Joker bit his lip before a snarl rose in his throat. "What's going on? What is this? I don't want to tell you any of this. So why the hell am I telling you how I escaped and used the pen to pull back the…damn it."

The doctor paused and leaned back in his seat smiling as he pushed up his glasses.

"Ah, yes you seem confused. Let me explain. The drugs you have been given are more than a simple relaxant Joker. You see, they also make you quite susceptible to suggestion and what not. So, even though you may not want to, whenever I ask you a question you are compelled to answer."

The smile the doctor was sporting was sickening. He would have loved to rip it off but he knew he didn't have the energy let alone the coordination to do so at the moment. But oh when he finally implemented his yet to be conceived plan this yahoo would be getting what was coming to him. How dare he be so cheeky. "So, why don't we get back to it hhmn? What exactly did you use the pen for?"

Joker bit the inside of his cheek tasting blood on his tongue. Oh yeah, like he was going to willingly play their game? They'd have to pump him full with _way_ more of this stuff before he willingly outed himself and his escape routes.

Fifty minutes later the doctor exited the cell and sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. The two guards who had been standing on the opposite wall just in case eyed him curiously. "You alright doc?" One asked.

The doctor ran his fingers through his auburn hair and eyed the tall thickly built guard.

"I'm fine." He muttered. The second guard cocked his head to one side.

"Get anything out of the clown?"

"Not much. After he realized what the drugs were doing he clammed up."

"You've just been sitting in there for an hour trying to get him to talk? Wow, usually we can't get the damn freak to shut up."

The doctor shook his head.

"Oh no, he wasn't quiet. After awhile he started spewing answers in French."

"So he did answer you?"

"Oh yes. Only, I couldn't understand a word of it." The doctor sighed. "Next session I will be recording. And I'd also like to know how many languages the Joker speaks."

The two guards glanced at each other.

"Uh, sir. We weren't even aware that he spoke any other languages."

The doctor froze before sighing. "Great."

Dick eyed the sullen man seated on the other side of the table over his plate, lazily pushing potatoes around on his plate. Dick was used to Bruce being surly and sullen and all together unpleasant but he hadn't expected him to be down right vicious. When he'd gotten back from patrol he'd been grilled. Then when he finally did report he was chewed up one side and down the other for some silly little mistake he'd made while dealing with Two-Face that he couldn't even remember. It was obvious to the young acrobat that something was bothering Bruce. He just didn't know what. He planned to find out however. "So Bruce, how'd your investigation go?"

"What?" Bruce snapped seemingly startled by the question. Dick sat back in his seat a little more, a bit put off by the older mans reaction.

"Ah, aren't you investigating the Goodricke kidnapping or something?"

"Oh that. It's going fine. I'm still analyzing some evidence." Bruce muttered back before taking a sip of his wine. Dick mashed a potato square with his fork as he eyed his mentor. "Okay so I didn't imagine you telling me that you were going to investigate about that."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Bruce questioned eyeing the teenager with a critical eye. Dick shrugged his shoulder and leaned his elbow on the table.

"Oh I don't know, just, you seem bothered." he set his fork down. "Come on Bruce, what's wrong? If you've been acting weird ever since I got back."

"Drop it."

"But I want to kno-"

"I said drop it!"

Dick glared as Bruce left the dining room. He pushed his own plate away and leaned his chin on his hands as Alfred entered with an apple tart. "I swear he doesn't trust me Alfred. I prove myself over and over again and still he treats me like a kid."

"Begging your pardon Master Dick but you are a kid." Alfred said simply as he took the dinner plate and replaced it with the after dinner treat. Dick sat up and glared at the butler.

"I'm fourteen Alfred I'm not a kid anymore. He should trust me."

"Please try do understand Master Dick, whatever this is he must have a reason for keeping it from you."

"We're partners Alfred, you don't keep secrets from your partner!"

"Give him time Master Dick. He'll tell you when he's ready."

Dick sighed and pulled the tart towards him. "I hope you're right Alfred."

"So do I lad. So do I."

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><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>_Alright, so this has been the first chapter! I hope you like it. Long first chapter. I'm going to work hard on making the next chapter just as long so please be patient. _


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